by Meara Platt
“We did end it, but I thought it important to try again for your sake. You need to talk about what happened. You can’t carry the pain inside of you forever.”
“Yes, I can. I’ve managed to do it all these years.”
“No, you haven’t. You’re the unhappiest man I know.” She shrugged when he didn’t respond. “Have it your way. I’ll play with myself.”
He groaned. Yes, that would be a great sexual favor, watching her touch herself... rouse herself. Watching her run her fingers over the engorged tips of her firm, pink breasts. Watching her writhe as she stroked the sensitive nub that lay between her thighs until she was wet and hot and ready for him. The thrill would stop his heart.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“I think I just took my sexual favor.” Laughing at her confusion, he drew her atop him so that her splendid breasts, and their soon-to-be-engorged tips—for real, next time—were pressed to his hot skin. The nightshirt was still between them, of course. It wouldn’t be for long. “Your turn.”
“I want to ask you more about your brother.”
“Not yet, Dillie,” he said quietly. “Please.”
She studied him a long moment, and then nodded. She rolled off him and nestled once more in the crook of his arm, shifting and squirming until she was once again comfortable. She turned away from him so that they were almost spooned, her back to his front, and then turned again, apparently preferring to face him. She was like a kitten in his arms, squirming this way and that until she found the right spot.
She smiled as she trailed her fingers softly across his bare chest. “Your skin is like gold silk. You’re all muscles and silk, Ian.” She ran her thumb across his taut nipples. “And the gold hairs across your chest shimmer like rays of sun striking the water.”
His body jerked.
She smiled again, a devilish smile as she ran her tongue across one nipple in a slow, sensual circle.
He let out a low, throaty growl. “Where did you learn to do that?”
“Do you like it?”
Hell, yes.
“That’s how I lick the clotted cream off my strawberries.”
“I love strawberries. Clotted cream, too. My turn.” He eased her onto her back and ran his hand under her shirt. His shirt, she’d only borrowed it.
Dillie stayed his straying hand. “Not yet. It stays on until you tell me a big secret.”
“Or you change your mind.” He dipped his head to her breast, at the same time cupping it in his large hand. She had great breasts. The soft mound nicely filled his hand. He stroked his thumb lightly over her nipple, pleased when it quickly peaked. He took the hard tip into his mouth and used his tongue to tease through the crisp linen fabric.
He had a mouthful of the fabric. He wanted to taste Dillie’s skin, not the damn shirt. She shuddered, obviously not expecting the sensation, and arched toward him, scraping her fingers across his bare shoulders. “Ian, wait! Oh, blessed crumpets, stop!” She paused a beat, twisted her hands in his hair and held him to her breast. “No, don’t stop. Not yet.”
He swirled his tongue across her nipple.
“Wait!”
He drew back slightly, but did not remove his hand from her breast. Her heart was wildly pounding beneath his palm. She was excited, confused. This was her first time, so he was going to be patient. He didn’t wish to scare her. But so far, making love to Dillie was like playing with a wild ferret. Frustrating and unpredictable. “Dillie, we don’t have to do this.”
She groaned and laughingly kissed the top of his head, for her hands were still twisted in his hair and his head was at eye level to her breast. He liked the view. Would like it better without the shirt between them. “Yes, we do. I want to. Problem is, I don’t know what I’m doing. Will you help me, Ian?”
It took him a moment to catch his breath, for her casual kiss had sent him reeling. It was a careless, affectionate kiss. Gentle. Accepting. “I’ll help, but you must let me take control. You said earlier that you trusted me. Do you, Dillie?”
She let out a breathy sigh that ruffled his hair. “I do.”
Now, if only she would repeat those words when the minister read their vows.
“You can’t question me,” he warned.
Another breathy sigh. “I won’t.”
“Or talk at all.”
“But—”
“No talking. You just said you trusted me.”
“I still do, though I’m reconsidering,” she said with a teasing grin. But she had that Dillie tender look in her eyes, and her body was leaning toward his, so he knew that she wasn’t going to refuse him anything.
“One last thing. There is one word you can always say to me, and I’ll stop immediately. Just a simple no. All right?”
She nodded.
“Good.” He wasted no time in slipping the shirt off her body, his hands riding up her thighs, and then over her waist and higher to push the fabric off her slight shoulders until there was nothing to impede his view.
He let out a soft breath. She was perfect, soft and round in all the right places, yet sleek and firm wherever she should be.
He brushed his fingers over one nipple. It turned pebble-hard within a few strokes.
He tossed the shirt to the foot of the bed, not caring where it landed. He was too busy staring at Dillie. He even liked the blush that ran from her cheeks to the tips of her ears. “Don’t cover yourself,” he whispered when she tried to draw the counterpane over her shoulders.
“But Ian—”
“Sweetheart, you’re beautiful.” He ran his hand through her long, damp hair, brushing it back so that it fell over her shoulders and across the mattress. He trailed his fingers along her soft, pink throat and downward over her breast. “Beautiful,” he repeated in quiet awe, and meant it with all his heart, for she had an innocent sensuality about her that he found irresistible.
He took her nipple into his mouth, and swirled his tongue over the smooth, peach-scented skin. He eased her flat on her back and carefully moved his leg between hers, always aware of her injury and the fact that she hadn’t taken anything to stem her pain.
When she tried to reach for him, he took her hands in one of his and pinned them over her head because he knew she’d otherwise distract him, asking what she should do and where she should put her hands to pleasure him. It wasn’t his turn to be pleasured. Not yet. He’d fly off like a cannonball shot from the massive cannon of a frigate if she touched him, he was that hard and ready.
He returned his attention to Dillie’s body, teasing and nipping and running his thumb over the now engorged bud of her breast, and then taking it into his mouth again and teasing some more.
“Oh, Ian. I’m tingling all over. Hot tingles.”
So much for not talking, but he didn’t mind. These were new sensations for her and he loved her innocent wonder and responsiveness. She wanted him, trusted him, and he didn’t wish to disappoint. That would come later, after they were husband and wife. Even if he managed not to muddle things, his family would do its best to destroy the marriage.
He didn’t know what would happen in the future, but tonight was his and Dillie’s.
He slid his hand between her thighs and gently dipped his finger into her moist opening, knowing she was ready for him. She gasped and arched her back as he stroked her hot, sweet core. “Ian, I want to touch you.” She struggled weakly to free her hands, but he wouldn’t allow it.
“No, sweetheart. Not yet.” He needed to taste and savor her first, to make her feel the wondrous sensation of passion. He wanted to watch her soar to the stars when she reached her ecstasy.
Afterward, he’d allow her to touch him. Hell, he couldn’t wait. But he would have to, for he knew his limits, and Dillie had him dangerously hot and wanting, too damn close to the edge. She would push him over the edge if she touched him now. Next time would be different. Next time, they’d soar together.
“Ooh, Ian.”
His mouth was on h
er breast and he could feel the wild beat of her heart against his lips. Her skin was deliciously hot and pink, so soft against his mouth. He stroked between her thighs and felt the pulsing throb of her nether regions as he teased her to mindless bliss. Dillie was eager and passionate, holding nothing back as she bucked against his fingers, her slender body undulating to the motion of his strokes. “Oh! Oh, heavens! Ian!”
He loved the breathy moans emanating from low in her throat, loved the way she writhed against his hand and the frantic passion in her voice when she called out his name. “Ian. Ian! Oooh!”
She opened her beautiful eyes and turned to him, ready to take him inside her. He ached for it, too. Soon. Not yet. “It gets better, sweetheart.” He moved down her body, dipping his head lower and taking her with his tongue, his onslaught gentle but relentless against her nether lips, licking and suckling until she was beautifully wild. She arched her back, called out his name, and then he felt the rolling waves of ecstasy begin to engulf her, felt the heave and shudder of her glistening body against his mouth. “Ian! Ian!”
He loved the raspy softness of her voice.
He drew her up against him, holding her securely in his embrace until her passionate shudders abated and she slowly began to calm. He slid his hands along her hot, damp skin and inhaled her scent, an intoxicating mix of sex and peaches.
He’d pleasured women before and had received sexual pleasures in return, but those had been mere carnal acts, involving nothing of himself. He’d never lost control. Never cared about the woman, just the act of satisfaction. And he’d been careful to choose women who never cared about him either.
Dillie was different. She mattered to him.
“I wasn’t very quiet, was I?” She rested her head against his shoulder, her unsubdued breaths tickling the short hairs sprinkling his chest.
He ran his fingers through her hair, brushing the damp strands off her cheek as he caressed her. “No, you were quite the noisy Farthingale. I didn’t mind.”
She smiled against his ribs. “So, you’re not irritated with me for breaking your rules and talking?”
“No. I liked the breathy way you called out my name.”
He felt another smile against his ribs. “I couldn’t help myself,” she admitted. “I love the way you touch me. I never knew it could be like this. No wonder my sisters are so happy with their husbands.”
He chuckled.
“I’m about to ask a stupid question. Promise you won’t laugh.”
He kissed the top of her head. “I promise.”
“Is there more? You see, the way Lily explained it to me... but that was before she’d met Ewan, and her knowledge was only from books—”
“You’re still a virgin, if that’s what you’re asking. There’s so much more to be shared between us. This is only the beginning of our journey.”
“Our journey? Sounds nice. How long before we reach its end?”
Never, I hope. The errant thought surprised him, but it shouldn’t have. He’d been having these thoughts about Dillie for quite some time now. She was his forever girl, if only he could convince her of it. If only he could be sure of it himself. He’d never felt like this with anyone before. He kissed her softly again. “Sweetheart, be patient. We’re just getting started. The journey will last a lifetime, if you’ll let it.” Or unless he did something cruel to break her heart. He never wanted to hurt her.
“Seriously? Even when we’re old and gray?”
He arched an eyebrow and grinned. “Yes.”
Her eyes were still wide and brimming with wonder. “Seriously?”
“If you wish it.”
“Ian, I can’t think beyond tonight.”
“Then don’t. Just feel. The night is young, and I’m not anywhere near done with you yet.”
She snuggled against him once more, her body wrapping around his as he continued to hold her in his embrace. She was slight and slender, yet there was something heavenly in the way she fit beside him. Something perfect. She wasn’t too big. Wasn’t too small. She was Dillie, the temptress of his fantasies.
Exploring Dillie’s body, finally seeing her in all her naked glory—and her body was undeniably glorious—had been his wish for longer than he cared to admit. He’d thought the fulfillment of his fantasy would satisfy his curiosity and allow him to move on. He’d marry her, of course. Provide wealth and respectability. Most important, he’d regain control of his wits, no longer aching for her as he had been these past few years.
He couldn’t have been more wrong.
He wanted Dillie.
More than he ever had before.
And he damn well wasn’t going to be satisfied with just one night.
She nudged him, bringing him back from his thoughts and casting him a soft, Dillie smile. “I’m ready for the next step. This is rather a lot of fun.”
***
The butterflies in Dillie’s stomach had always fluttered in a frenzy at the sight of Ian, but as he lay beside her, holding her close in his muscled arms, they were beyond frenzied and caught in paroxysms of delight. Never in her wildest imaginings had she ever thought this moment would arrive, nor had she expected it to be so wonderful.
Nor had she expected Ian to be so wonderful, but he was.
She could see that he had been affected as well. There was a gleam of confusion in his eyes, those beautiful gray-green eyes that never revealed more than amused disdain but tonight revealed a small corner of his hurt and empty heart.
She reached up and kissed him softly on the lips, loving the warmth of his mouth. He’d touched her as intimately as a man could touch a woman—as far as she knew—and despite his rakish reputation, she’d never felt used, never felt that her body was merely a vessel at his disposal, to be discarded once he’d had his fill.
He’d touched her, kissed her, slid his tongue inside her and teased her over the edge, always with affection and consideration. “What comes next, Ian?”
“This.” He ran his fingers through her hair again, brushing the long strands over her shoulder and then easing her onto her back against the soft horsehair mattress. He removed his trousers, revealing the hard, manly length of him, and allowed her to look her fill before he moved atop her. He propped most of his weight on his elbows so that they sank into the mattress on each side of her.
She smiled as she felt the weight of his hard body pressing down on hers, his chest against her breasts, his long legs covering hers, and then all rational thought fled as he lowered his lips to hers and kissed her with enough heat and passion to set the entire inn afire. Blessed saints and holy crumpets!
He smiled when he ended the kiss, the smoky emerald gleam of his eyes promising something wonderful, promising to guide her to someplace she’d never been.
In that moment, Dillie knew she would follow Ian anywhere. Across a windswept sea. Atop white-crested waves. Along green valleys and majestic mountaintops capped with snow. She wanted to be with him for the rest of her life.
But Ian wasn’t the forever sort.
He would lose interest in her eventually; perhaps he had already lost interest. Perhaps he had never been interested. Rakehells were good at convincing women they were special. Yet all of this felt real to her.
She wasn’t certain what this was. For the moment, she had Ian to herself, but for how long? Only tonight? She refused to think beyond the next sunrise. However, if there were consequences to this night, she would write to him at once and agree to marry him. It was one thing for her to remain a ruined spinster, but quite another for her to bring a child into this world out of wedlock. She wasn’t that foolish.
Nor was he. In truth, she knew he’d be at her doorstep with special license in hand before the ink had dried on her letter. He didn’t love her, but he felt he owed her. Ian was the sort who always paid his debts.
His tongue scraped lightly against her teeth. She parted her lips to allow him entrance, eager to surrender to his promise of pleasure. “Dillie. Sweetheart,” h
e said in a moaning whisper, and then his tongue was in her mouth, plundering and probing her depths. She wasn’t exotic or mysterious. She wasn’t intriguingly deep. She was simple and obvious, often walking around with her heart exposed.
He was the real mystery.
He was the one who held secrets and hid behind the thick walls built around his heart.
She grasped his big, sinewy shoulders, responding to his kisses with a fervent hunger the like of which she’d never experienced before. She touched and swirled and rolled her tongue with his, returning his urgent thrusts with those of her own, until the pleasure overwhelmed her and she dug her nails into his back, slid her hands down his body to cup his firm buttocks. His golden buns.
She was so hungry for him. He tasted much better than food.
He began to gently knead her breast, his fingers so magical that she melted at his touch. She let out a moan as he began to tease her nipple with his thumb, and moaned again when he teased it to a hard bud that peeked out between the cascading strands of dark hair that he’d earlier brushed over her shoulder. The wondrous sensation of her hair and his thumb rubbing across her now-engorged tip sent waves of heat coursing through her body. “Ian, I’m on fire.”
He smiled against her lips. “So am I, sweetheart.”
She loved his smile. She saw it so rarely, but tonight he had lots of smiles for her. And she loved the way he touched her, sometimes gentle, sometimes urgent, but always seeming to know what she needed and exactly when she needed it. There was a natural, manly grace to his movements, the way his muscles bunched and corded, the way they tautened and strained.
She wanted to watch him, but her eyes closed of their own accord and she felt him instead, felt the skim of his body against hers, felt his strong, solid arms around her. Felt the pucker of the vicious scar that stretched across his belly.
It wasn’t the only one. He had many scars on his body, a sign that he’d endured much cruelty, but all she felt was the gentleness of his touch and the hard heat of him against her fiery skin as he settled between her thighs and poised himself at her entrance.